


A Winter's Tale

by Uchihas_rose



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Ferrets, Fluff and Humor, Love/Hate, M/M, POV Jim Moriarty, POV Mycroft Holmes, POV Sebastian Moran, Three Men and a ferret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:39:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25954597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Uchihas_rose/pseuds/Uchihas_rose
Summary: A cabin in the middle of the Alaskan wilderness. What might sound like a romantic getaway is in reality an experimental vacation for three very different men and a ferret. An experiment which is already doomed to fail.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Sebastian Moran/Jim Moriarty
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	A Winter's Tale

Watching his breath form a small, visible cloud of cold air in front of him, Sebastian made his way back to the shack. The snow creaked quietly under his feet and after spending way too many hours in those fucking freezing woods, the cold had started to creep through his jacket, his boots and his gloves. He would have to check his toes for frostbites later; right now, he couldn’t even feel them.  
Damn Alaska! Damn that fucking snow! Damn that cold!   
Sebastian huffed, exhaling another white cloud which reminded him of cigarette smoke. He doubted a cigarette would do much good in keeping him warm, not to mention the fact that he would not be able to light it while his fingers still felt like ice cubes attached to his hands.  
Finally, a faint light started to glow down below him, and he increased his speed slightly, the sight of his temporary home sending new strength into his tired legs.  
He huffed once more when his eyes fell to the traps he had put up before going out, seeing all of them snapped shut without any animal trapped inside them. No visible track of any animal indicated movement around the traps, nor was there blood which might have made for some easy game around the shack.  
Sebastian sighed deeply, grabbing his rifle tighter. The two rabbits he had shot swayed slightly while he finished the last few meters and finally opened the door to the wooden shack.

Warm air greeted him, a pleasure after his trip through the icy wilderness. Sebastian put his rifle and jacket to one of the hooks next to the door, untying his prey first, before getting rid of his shoes.  
He had managed to undo the first when a small furry creature came darting towards him and nestled itself down the shoe Sebastian had just removed from his foot. He sighed, glancing at the ferret who was making itself comfortable, squealing in joy. Shaking his head, Sebastian undid the other shoe, leaving the ferret where it was. As long as Moran didn’t start to chew on his shoes or took a shit in them, he had no valid reason to take the over dimensional rat out of his shoe, no matter how little he liked him.  
He combed some half-melted snow out of his hair, grabbed the rabbits and entered the main room.  
“I am back”, he announced, “your overgrown rat is lying in my shoe again and we’re lucky I was able to shoot something because the traps I placed around the shack mysteriously snapped shut... Care to explain, Jim?”  
He turned his attention to the dark-headed man who was laying on the bear skin in front of the fireplace, eyes half closed in enjoyment.  
When addressed, Jim opened his eyes and shrugged, no sign of guilt visible on his face.  
“Moran was running around outside earlier and I didn’t want him to get hurt.”

Sebastian huffed once more, rolling his eyes.  
“If the weather conditions get any worse, we’ll be stuck in this shack for days and then you’ll be grateful for those traps, because they’ll be the only thing to provide us with meat. Though, I guess, should we really get snowed in, we can always eat Mycroft first.”

A scoff sounded from the table where a third man was sitting over a bunch of papers, looking up upon the mention of his name.  
“In the interest of our moral, humanity and, since human meat can lead to serious illness, our health, I’d suggest to rather eat that mangy fur ball who’s terrorising any shoe it can set eyes on first, before drooping down to such low behaviour.”  
“If any of you”, Jim said, rolling lazily to his back and tilting his head to look at Mycroft, “lays so much as a finger on my ferret, I will eat you both.”

Mycroft just rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to his papers and Sebastian too didn’t take the threat too serious. He knew James Moriarty well enough to know that he wouldn’t actually eat him. He wasn’t sure about Mycroft, though, but that also didn’t particularly bother him. Maybe he’d be finding out this way if the Iceman actually possessed a heart or really just had a black hole in its place, as Jim always claimed. Plus, he wouldn’t mind getting rid of Mycroft that way.  
He didn’t like sharing, especially not the person he loved and had sworn loyalty to, years before Mycroft had been showing up in the picture.   
There was no love between the British government and the second most dangerous man in London and had the circumstances be any different, they wouldn’t even so much as look at each other – the only thing ensuring they didn’t try to kill each other was their common love for the man in front of the fire, who was closing his eyes once again, looking very relaxed. 

After making sure neither his toes or his fingers had not taken any permanent damage from the cold, Sebastian took the rabbits to the kitchen and started to skin them.  
They’d make quite a nice stew for three people – if they still had any vegetables, of course. Once again, Sebastian cursed the Iceman. It was all his fault. If that man could've just kept his mouth shut for one bloody day, Jim never would’ve decided they’d need a “getting along vacation.”  
Sebastian was just glad Jim hadn’t suggested a “getting along” shirt, but that was before he had known he’d have to spent that vacation in a freezing white wilderness in the middle of nowhere. On the other hand, this was so Jim – as dramatic as fucking possible, not caring about any emerging problems and should there be any, they’d simply be called “challenges” they had to overcome.  
He wouldn’t really have mind whatever the bloody hell this place was called exactly, had it just been Jim and himself. Having Mycroft in tow, as well as Jim’s oversized rat, was a horrible mood killer.   
That bear skin Jim was so teasingly lolling on would have been perfect for a shag or two or whatever how long this dreading snow storm would last, if it was just the two of them, but for three men it was too small, especially if one of these men was slightly overweight. Not even the fact that Jim himself was rather skinny could change much about that. 

Moran had grown tired of Sebastian’s shoes and returned to his master, curling around Jim’s neck like a living scarf. Jim ran his fingers over the thick fur, letting the ferret lick his nose and lips. Mycroft was still busy with his papers, but Sebastian noted the quick glances he casted towards Jim. He couldn’t help but feeling jealousy gnawing on his entrails once again. He focused back on the rabbits, imaging it was Mycroft’s skin he was flaying instead of the animal.  
There was no fucking way this would work, no matter what Jim thought. Genius or not, Jim was a completely oblivious infant when it came to human interaction and relationship. Maybe even worse than any of the Holmes brothers and those were already horrible at it.  
The most realistic outcome Sebastian could see for their “getting along vacation” was two living people and a corpse, and the corpse definitely would not be his, nor would it be Jim’s.  
Probably two corpses, if he took that annoying piece of fur into account.

Two arms wrapped around him from behind, black streaks of hair tickled his ear and he could feel Jim’s lips gently nuzzling on his neck.  
“Are you mad at me for snapping the traps? Cause if you are, I’ll definitely come up with a way to make up for it.”

From Mycroft’s corner sounded the sharp snap of a breaking pencil. Sebastian grinned quietly to himself. It felt nice having Mycroft being the jealous one for a change. It gave him a comfortable amount of power over their former common foe and now rival in his love for Jim.   
He ran his hand over Jim’s neck, scratching his hairline until he could hear Jim purr softly, before he shook his head.  
“A bit. I don’t know how long the weather will be good enough to go out any longer and I really don’t want to starve to death during a bloody blizzard. Even though we could still eat the Iceman first.”  
The Fat Man, the Iceman, the buzz kill... Sebastian had many names for Mycroft, some of them adapted from Jim and not one of them was overly kind. Coming up with new nicknames was one of Jim’s most favourite things to do and Sebastian always enjoyed playing along with it.   
It simply was way too amusing to watch Mycroft’s reactions on them. The little things in life, as someone had once said. 

Hearing Jim and Sebastian cooing quietly to one another was making it impossible for Mycroft to focus on his work and he couldn’t risk losing another pencil. He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply and released his breath slowly once again. It was way too easy imagining the grin Sebastian Moran surely was wearing on his lips right now.   
He cursed the work load he had brought with him from London, cursed his decision to spend the time Sebastian had been away focused on work instead of James. But there had been the mangy excuse of a bottlebrush, of course, and, sadly, James was crazy about that damn animal.   
Their love for James and their hatred for the ferret were probably the only things Colonel Moran and he had in common.

Mycroft took another deep breath. It was pointless to become enraged about it – he’d only be playing into Sebastian’s hands that way and he would not be giving his rival that kind of pleasure.   
Focusing back on his work he did his best to deny the other two men’s existence, hoping it would do something about the anger he felt growling in his stomach.   
Mycroft had always boasted himself to be above normal human behaviour and their petty feelings, but it was impossible for him to deny the jealousy roaming inside of him, almost blinding him in his fury.   
He cursed himself for becoming so pathetically ordinary, for even searching for human life which he could consider anything above goldfish, for ever feeling something as ridiculous and simple as loneliness. He had tried what Sherlock and James had done, to find some more ordinary human, connected in some way to some kind of law enforcement, as it seemed to be some requirement in finding a person special for someone of their intellect.   
He had tried it, had tried to see in Gregory what his brother saw in John and what Jim was obviously seeing in Sebastian, but it just wouldn’t do for him. He hadn’t been able to connect with the DI the same way the other two had and after a few months he had ended it. Sometimes, Mycroft wondered if Gregory ever understood why it hadn’t been working out. He didn’t need someone to monitor him, taking care of him…   
He wouldn’t deny that in the end, it had been jealousy which lead to their current situation. Jealousy of the bond Sebastian and James were obviously sharing, like Sherlock and John did as well and which he had been unable to form with Gregory.   
Someone of regular, inferior intelligence was not for him, he had realised. He needed a mind equal to his own, a challenge, someone to test his limits, to take them to the edge and beyond…   
It was obvious that in the end it couldn’t have been anyone but James Moriarty.   
The most dangerous criminal the world had ever seen…   
It was only making sense, after all – it already was Mycroft's job to enforce the law; Gregory was no challenge for him, no match to his influence.  
James, on the other hand...   
Mycroft closed his eyes, doing his best to hide the tiny smile sneaking on his lips upon the memory. How easy it had been, after all, much too easy. His original goal had been to weaken Moriarty, to keep him away from Sherlock – and had things gone as planned, James would be sitting in Sherrinford now and Mycroft wouldn’t have to worry about breaking pencils out of jealousy.   
But things hadn’t gone as planned. Mycroft still didn’t know why he was so surprised by that. It wasn’t possible to set human's affairs in stone, at least not without killing them.  
Maybe he should have had let James die up on that roof. He shouldn’t have had interfered...   
Mycroft tried to focus back on his work. It was pointless thinking about the “What if?”. There was no What if anymore, it was already in the past and Mycroft wouldn’t waste his time by worrying over things which were unable to be changed now. He had to make the best out of the situation he was having now and that meant he had to tolerate two Morans around him. In his opinion, one was already too much and for the love of God, Mycroft couldn’t say which one he’d love to kick out more. At least the ferret was not coaxing to James every given chance.   
He despised the jealousy filling his stomach. It was such an ordinary and weak feeling; it made him sick to be just like any of those pathetic goldfish.   
James always claimed Mycroft had a black hole instead of a heart but Mycroft knew better. He had a heart, an actual human heart; he had just guarded it, hidden it behind layers and layers of disinterest, sarcasm and mockery – a protective coat of ice which a criminal of all people had thawed away with such determination that Mycroft couldn’t help but wonder if that had been James’s plan all along. To make him weak and vulnerable, to awaken a spark of humanity in him which would be extinguished once again... To make him brittle and shatter him when the right moment would arrive...  
Maybe he was paranoid, but one had to be careful in handling criminals, especially if they were as dangerous as Professor James Moriarty and Colonel Sebastian Moran.

“Hey, Tin Man!”  
Mycroft tried to force a smile on his lips. There seemed no day James wasn’t coming up with some new nickname for him and, much to his dismay, Sebastian had grown accustomed to use them as well. Most of the time, they didn’t surprise Mycroft, because they weren’t particularly unique and nothing Sherlock hadn’t been using as well when they’d been kids – but except for James, Sebastian and Irene Adler – who had to adapt that distasteful nickname, of course – no one called him Iceman.   
Fat Man, Fatty, Mycroll Hams (he would never stop rolling his eyes at children’s blunt stupidity which sadly was often confused with actual creativity) – he had heard them all. As a child, it sometimes bothered him, though he had never shown. He never would have. It would have only increased the teasing and unlike James, Mycroft never could have poisoned his childhood bully.   
This cold blooded, heartless act by a child which wasn’t even a teenager at that time, still made him shiver, although there was absolutely no way he’d ever admit it. It would only push James’s ego even more.   
Tin Man, however, was something new, so Mycroft furrowed his brows slightly, pretending not to feel addressed in any way by that name. If he didn’t react to it, maybe it wouldn’t stick. Mycroft rued the day he reacted to “Iceman” the first time. That day had marked the beginning of the end.   
He gathered the pieces of the pencil he had snapped earlier to throw them away, picked up a different pen and started reading the contract Lady Smallwood had been printing out for him to re-check one last time. It had been changed twice by now; hopefully, this would be the final version of it.  
Something hard hit his neck and dropped to the floor next to his chair. Mycroft didn’t look up from his contract, his jaw tensing slightly. On some days, he wished Sebastian had less accuracy in aiming, but on the other hand, if that were the case, he wouldn’t have to worry about the sniper wooing James.  
A second pistachio shell hit his neck. Mycroft grinded his teeth; his finger tightening around the contract he was still holding. He’d better put it down; otherwise he would need a new copy…   
Pistachio shell, the third. He inhaled sharply, still refusing to give the two men any attention. It wouldn’t do to encourage this childish behaviour. Why could no one outside work behave like an actual grown-up?!   
Four more shells followed, all of them flicked across the kitchen table with annoyingly precision. No, no matter how many pistachio shells Sebastian would throw at him, there was no way, absolutely no way, he would ever give in to-  
Annoyed, Mycroft turned his chair around, glaring at Sebastian, who was already getting ready to shoot another shell, and Jim, who was sitting on the table, smirking.  
“Stop. Doing. That”, he hissed, laying the contract back down. The shells crashed underneath his feet; he inwardly rolled his eyes at the disgusting sound, “what do you want, anyways?!”  
“For Her Majesty's most loyal corgi to heel and help with food preparation”, Sebastian answered, “or do you expect us to do all the work, so you just have to sit down and eat? You could lay the table. If that’s not too much to ask, of course.”  
The sniper’s voice was dripping with sarcasm.   
Mycroft forced a smirk on his lips once more.  
“I am actually working”, he said, “unlike some other people who were busy all day cooing over a god damned ferret.”  
“It’s not my fault if you take work with you while on vacation”, James responded, shrugging, “so don’t try to blame me for that. But if you don’t want to eat... More for us.”  
With that words, he stripped another pistachio of its shell, laid the shell ready for Sebastian who was already going into position to flicker it at Mycroft.  
With a deep groan of agony and displeasure, Mycroft left his table and the contract to join Sebastian and James.  
“My work is actually important”, he said sourly, “the security of the United Kingdom is depending on it. Not that you would care much...”  
He didn’t know what he was expecting, but James’s jaws opening in a huge dramatic yawn was definitely not the reaction he’d been hoping for. Sadly, it didn’t surprise him at all. What would a criminal care about the country’s security, anyways?

Jim yawned noisily, stretching his jaw. By the way Mycroft’s teeth moved when he did so, he could tell that the British government did not at all consider his view about security issues funny. It was a horrible boring matter, though, and Jim did not want to hear about it so close to dinner. It would make him fall asleep within minutes.   
He grabbed for another pistachio, but Sebastian had pulled the bowl away.  
“We’re going to eat as soon as that table is laid”, he said, “you are so not going to stuff your face with nuts when there’s stew coming any second now for which’s meat I’ve been running outside this bloody cold and snow all day, leaving you alone with a possessive noodle rat and some overweight lap dog of our Majesty, the Queen herself.”  
Jim had to supress a chuckle. Sebastian never made much effort to hide his jealousy and he came up with some rather colourful descriptions of Mycroft at that. The bickering between the two men was exceptionally hilarious to watch, but lately all it did was tire Jim beyond words. Maybe it would be easier if the two would only be bickering at each other, but no, they were also jealous of the ferret! It surprised Jim over and over how unbelievably ignorant and childish the most powerful man in Great Britain and the second most dangerous man in London behaved when Moran, the ferret was involved.   
Maybe that was the only thing they could agree on and matter of fact, the only time Jim had ever seen the two men work together was in trying to scare the ferret off. Not that Moran was overly impressed by their efforts and they were pointless, after all. Jim adored the furry little creature and forgave him almost everything.  
Looking as if he’d bitten something sour, Mycroft walked over to the kitchen drawer and looked for cutlery, plates and cups, while Jim prepared some tea. They might have been in America, but that was no reason to forget all about British etiquette. The Queen would probably drop one of her own cups otherwise or something like that.   
Moran had curled around his neck like a scarf, his furry head resting on Jim’s shoulder. When Sebastian wasn’t looking, Jim stole a piece of meat from the stew, feeding it to the ferret. Moran thanked him by chewing noisily and chattering softly into his ear. Jim smiled, petting the ferret’s dark brown fur.   
“How about”, Mycroft’s voice sounded near his ear, “you get that over-sized rat out of the kitchen and contribute your part in laying the table as well, oh dear most dangerous criminal in London?”  
With a deep, dramatic sigh, Jim let Moran run down his arm and hop back on the ground, watching the white tail-tip vanish through the open door, undoubtedly to seek shelter in a shoe again. For some reason, Moran loved to lie around in shoes. Occasionally, he chewed on them, too or carried them off to hide somewhere, much to Sebastian’s and Mycroft’s annoyance.   
Jim set down the glasses Mycroft had just handed him, eying the steaming pot and licking his lips. He was getting hungry now, too – Sebastian cooked incredibly well, as even Mycroft had to unwillingly admit.   
“Don’t you dare to sneak in on my food now!”, Sebastian warned, holding a wooden spoon threateningly, “we can eat as soon as you move out of my way.”  
Jim shrugged and sat down, opposite to Mycroft, so Sebastian had to sit between them. It was tactical, of course, forcing Mycroft and Sebastian to interact more. At least, that was the theory. After all, they had gone on “vacation” with a purpose which would not be left neglected. 

The dinner was actually the most peaceful time of this day. All of them being too hungry to spent too much energy on arguing, the first half hour everything was silent except for the clatter of plates and cutlery.   
However, as to be expected in a household with so many unique and great minds who all held rather different opinions towards each other, it was only a matter of time until the illusion was going to crumble.   
Luckily, there hadn’t been any serious injuries so far. Mycroft had once complained that Sebastian purposefully nearly stabbed him with a bone of some kind, but Sebastian had reminded Mycroft that if Sebastian had really had had any intention of that sort, he wouldn’t have missed. To which Mycroft had responded that the art of a near miss was almost as high a skill, if not even higher, than true accuracy, since near misses required a more precise control of the weapon of choice. Sebastian had only grinned to that, infuriating Mycroft even further.   
Moran had taken place on the table, nibbling at the bones.  
Mycroft’s face grimaced in disgust.  
“James, dear”, he said, “what is that rat doing on the table?”  
“Mycroft, dear”, Jim responded, mimicking the other man’s tone, “that animal is a ferret, not a rat. I thought you already had the brains and therefore, weren’t in need of any.”  
Mycroft grinded his teeth, forcing a smile to his lips.  
“There is still an animal on the table and I’d rather have it if that creature of yours wasn’t contaminating any food.”  
“I didn’t know you wanted to eat any bones”, Sebastian chipped in, but Mycroft ignored him.  
“James, seriously. It’s disgusting.”  
“You’re such a monster!”, Jim exclaimed, “why don’t you go to the wizard and ask him to give you a heart?!”  
Mycroft’s lips curled into a smile – so that was where the new nickname had come from...   
“No, thank you”, he responded, turning his attention back to his food, “I have no need of the wizard, but clearly, you are very grateful for those brains he must have given-“  
Mycroft didn’t get to finish the sentence.   
With a roar of anger, Jim had flung the cutlery at Mycroft who quickly brought up his plate to evade the attack.   
“Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore”, Sebastian said to the ferret who had curled up next to the bones plate to sleep, completely oblivious to the fight in front of him. Sebastian decided to, for just this once, follow the ferret’s example and pretend not to notice the yelling and flying dishes.  
Too bad they didn’t have a balloon like Dorothy did to return to London. For the moment, though, he was sure this fight would only be calmed down if he’d do as it had been done away with the Wicked Witch of the West – finding a bucket of water to cool those heated tempers down.  
Sebastian sighed deeply.  
If Jim really intended to stay out here in the middle of nowhere until they'd actually get along, he'd better find a way to get used to this cold. Unless, of course, they would by some magic happenstance find the cap which controlled the flying monkys.   
London was much closer to Alaska than Kansas was to Oz, right?


End file.
